


Sleep

by DEx Hooker (FangBanger)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangBanger/pseuds/DEx%20Hooker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If they thought anything of the way his quick hands pressed the object of destruction, something he’d searched for three hundred years to hold, into the breast pocket of his jacket to rest safely close to his heart, not one of them shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Sleep  
> Author: Roguie…. Etc.  
> Fandom: Once Upon a Time  
> Pairing: Killian/Emma-ish  
> Rating: K+  
> Words: 2500  
> Spoilers: Um. Yeah. No holds barred, up to S4 finale.  
> Summary: If they thought anything of the way his quick hands pressed the object of destruction, something he’d searched for three hundred years to hold, into the breast pocket of his jacket to rest safely close to his heart, not one of them shared.  
> Disclaimer: OuaT is not mine – in all honesty, if it had been mine, HBO would have had trouble airing what I would have written for the CS reunion, and the last three minutes (barring I love you) would NEVER have happened. *pouty face* I HATE angsty cliffhangers when it involves my OTPs.  
> A/N: My Hook muse is a sad muse. :( I haven’t even been reading fic since the finale mostly because I’m not sure what I’ll be doing with myself re: writing for the summer and didn’t want to be influenced. I know the Hook has the dagger spiel has been played, but my muse wanted to play with it too so I figured I’d let her so she could get back in the game. Meanwhile, I’ve been all alone at work since a quarter to 8 this morning, so yeah, “Sleep” happened.

~~~?~~~

 

If they saw him move quietly towards the piece of metal that lay seemingly innocently in the middle of the road, not one of them stopped his progress forward.

If they saw his thumb move mourningly over the letters that were inarguably beautifully inscribed on the flat side of the dagger she had left behind, not one of them said a word to stop him.

If they thought anything of the way his quick hands pressed the object of destruction, something he’d searched for three hundred years to hold, into the breast pocket of his jacket to rest safely close to his heart, not one of them shared.

If they protested the way he disappeared into the night, taking their last connection to their daughter, their mother, their friend, with him, not one of them stepped forward to interfere.

Perhaps they were in shock. He understood how they felt. His heart beat beneath his breast as though trapped in the murky depths of the sea: slow, sluggish and stuttered. He had been trapped in a place he never thought she would put him: between defying her wishes and her certain destruction. In the other place, the dark book, he forced her into the same position and she had stood by without argument, allowing himself to sacrifice everything in an attempt to bring their world back into the right. He had seen the look on her face, understanding instantly the emotions that took flight across her suddenly pale cheeks, her horrified eyes that displayed every shadow of her instantly broken soul. He had rend her in two as he died; much as Pan once tore shadow from body, Killian tore their souls apart with his death and left her half a person until they reconnected in Storybrooke what felt like a lifetime later. Now, he understood. He felt the emptiness that filled him where her soul once brought light to his darkened being. He felt the ruined rhythm of his heart as it beat without the life she had infused into it. He felt the agony of having half of his soul ripped away from him into an existence that was worse than death could ever hope to be. Emma had been taken into darkness: a place Killian knew better than most, a place her light would dim, her soul would ache, her heart would beat the same stuttered rhythm as Killian’s as it blackened with her every thought, and she was alone.

He had never wanted magic more than he did at that moment as he took step after agonizing step towards the docks, where his home, his Jolly Roger, floated atop waves that seemed far too calm as his world shattered around him. His heart screamed at him to be able to transport himself to Emma, wherever she may be suffering, to bear her darkness with her, to share the weight of it all so that it wouldn’t crush her before he could save her. His knees trembled as he boarded the gangplank and strode onto the familiar, once well loved wooden deck. He had felt the tears that filled his eyes when the fish witch brought the Jolly Roger back to him, pulling her through the realms, returning his home. He’d thought himself the luckiest bastard in the realm as he boarded decks he thought never to walk again, entered a room in which he thought never to sleep again, and stroked treasures he thought never to see again. Instead he knew he’d been a fool; he’d traded her for the chance to find Emma, to be with Emma. Everything in this blasted existence came with a price; his price had been his damned ship, his sacrifice had been his home, his reward had been Emma in his arms, her lips against his, her words food for his blackened heart as it ached its way back to the light. As joyous as it had been to once again captain the Jolly Roger, he should have known the balance would be set. The return of the Jolly wasn’t a reward for his actions, but a balance for the loss of his happy ending, and how he wished he could simply trade her away one final time to return Emma to her home in his now empty embrace.

He soldiered on, one footstep after another, leading him into the depths of his home that now seemed nothing more than sails and boards, empty without his princess to hold amongst the walls of his ship. The Jolly shuddered beneath him, tipping to the side in a motion far too sharp for the gentle swell of the harbour waters. She could feel his pain, but for the first time in their centuries together, not even her concern could comfort him. Where once the depths of the Jolly had been soothing, now they felt smothering, the emotion that radiated from her enchanted wood cloying in its attempt to wrap around him. Anger that previously had no focus now bred within him, morphing into a false hatred for the home that had harboured him through every soul crushing moment of his existence. A kerosene lamp tore easily from the wall with the aid of his hook and flew gracefully across the small cabin until it shattered, mercifully empty, against the wall above his bed. Glass shards exploded across his blankets, and then the floor when he ripped the top blanket off his mattress, flinging it away in disgust. He wanted to scream, he wanted to destroy every last thing in his room until it had been stripped bare, walls pitted with dents, windows smashed, every last familiar detail obliterated as if his actions alone could repay the balance and his Emma would be brought back to his arms.

Instead he fell onto the bare mattress, the scent of her still embedded in the material from their single night spent amongst his sheets. Had it only been two nights previous when she’d finally come to him, letting him know that he was indeed responsible for the protection of her heart even while she’d not yet spoken the words her soul had called out to him for weeks? Had it truly been less than forty eight hours since he’d held her against his body, in his arms, as she slept peacefully, her heart at last calm in the wake of her reconciliation with her parents, and her understanding of how deep his emotions for her were rooted in his very person? 

Hand and hook held his face as he breathed deep, uncertain as to whether he should scream or cry, rage or collapse, break or rebuild the man she believed a hero so that he may journey forward and assist her family in bringing her home. Would they even think of him when the sun rose, without Emma at their side reminding them that he existed? Would they think him a hero that could help, or was that folly only Emma’s alone, something that they all believed, himself included, only because she’d been the one to say it was so. Would they leave to find this Merlin without glancing towards the Jolly, without knocking on his door, without a measure of thought spared for the pirate that needed them to be as much his family now as they were hers? Or would they think he would leave as he had done in the Enchanted Forest so long ago, without a word, without a glance back because without his Saviour, his world was a bleak, soulless existence that bared no reason for him to be the hero that she saw in his heart?

Without thought put to action, he reached into his coat, drawing out the dagger. No words passed his lips as he stared down at her name etched into the metal. Emma Swan. Her name once again the clinch pin in a curse so dark that he couldn’t see the path to bring her home, and once again his thumb drew over the only physical manifestation he had of his love before resting it on his bed and climbing to his feet.

He shucked coat and shirt, kicked off his boots and laid back on the mattress, once again picking up the dagger, resting it against his chest, over his heart. Would they condemn him for taking it from them? For taking away their only way to find her in the darkness that swept her from their lives? Did he care?

“Come back to me, Swan,” he whispered softly into the night, his fingers clutching reflexively around the dagger’s grip, infusing ancient magic into his words even as his heart remained pure of intent.

The darkness was gentle as it swirled through the open window above his bed, filling the room with tendrils so inky black that it blotted out the light from the moon. His heart raced even as he refused to take his eyes from the dagger, his jaw clenching forcing the muscles under his scruff to twitch, his fingers holding the dagger in a tight fist as the darkness swirled at the foot of his bed, lesser and lesser with each vortex until the moonlight shone once more and reflected off the now white blonde mass of her hair.

“Killian,” she breathed softly, head cocked to the side, eyes that had once been sea green now a dark emerald, her pale skin even paler in the moon’s glow. 

“We could have found another way,” he murmured, not daring to look up, not trusting himself to move as her familiar scent reestablished itself in his room, flowing over him on a cool breeze.

“There wasn’t time.” Her voice was the same, not twisted and dark as he’d expected, not with the tinge of insanity that had once morphed Rumplestiltskin into the crocodile he’d become.

Killian’s voice was gritted with anger, fear, and agony. “There is always time, Emma. You take this bloody saviour bit and think you’re the one to sacrifice, that it has to be you. You leave behind people who love you, you leave us in pieces, your mother in tears, your father trembling, my chest a gaping wound, and yet you think you’re the one to sacrifice. You could have let the queen pay her dues, taking her chance at being the hero, but instead…” His voice trailed off, eyes on the dagger, twisting it in his grip until her name flashed in the pale light, taunting her as it reflected the light into her gaze.

“I’m right here, Killian,” she spoke softly, motionless as her lips pulled into a soft smile, her soul tugging at his, her heart calling to his across the dark chasm of power that lay between them.

“Are you, love?” At this he looked up, his blue eyes imploring her to not be the creature he expected to appear, his broken gaze meeting hers, screaming silently in his pain. “Gods,” he whispered, his heart breaking further as he finally set eyes upon her.

“Am I so ugly now?” she smiled again, so calm, as his gaze moved over her. 

“Never, love,” he choked out through his own awe, her skin so pale he could see the blue veins that ran beneath it, her hair so pale it was near white, her eyes so green he almost lost himself in their depths, reaching out to her with hook and hand, only the cold metal of the dagger as it fell to his chest bringing him back to himself before he touched her.

Her smile was knowing as it stretched lips that were now a deep ruby against her pale flesh, and his heart stuttered and stopped beating as she gazed down at him. “I’m still me,” she murmured as she waved a hand, the tingle of magic in the air surrounding him as he suddenly found himself resting on a fully made bed, the mattress soft and comfortable, the comforter warm and pillowing beneath his strong frame. “I’m just a little… more.”

“Emma,” he whispered, weakening as he knew he would.

“Killian,” she whispered back, eyes burning with an unnatural glow as she set knees to the end of his mattress and closed the small distance between them.

His traitorous arms opened for her, drawing her to him, her cool pale cheek resting over his heart, his fingers in her silky hair, stroking her softly before he could think any different.

“See, not so different,” her breath was cool against his skin but her words warm in his heart.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through them both as he shook his head, subtly moving the dagger to the drawer at his side of his bed before returning to holding her close. “Don’t flatter yourself, Swan, you yourself explained to me the benefits of muscle memory.”

Her sudden laughter chilled him, the edge of insanity changing the pitch of a sound he’d long since memorized, forcing him to swallow reflexively. “You know I could take that if I wanted it? Moving it to a simple wooden drawer wouldn’t stop me.”

He sighed, “I only thought to remove temptation, love.”

She nodded against him, a flick of her finger closing the drapes that allowed in the low light, plunging them into darkness.

“It’s fine where it is.”

He felt her lips curve against his chest, her fingers entwining with his as they lay in the darkness, her scent, the press of her body to his, the familiar rhythm of her heartbeat pulling the tension from his frame, tricking him into closing his eyes and for a few minutes allowing him to forget the hours past.

“I love you, Killian,” she whispered, suddenly, startling his eyes back open, the glow burning in hers bright enough to bring his gaze directly to her own. 

He sighed softly. “Tell me that when we’ve fixed this, love, and I will believe you.”

“What about now?”

Another sigh passed his lips and his eyes closed, blocking out reality for the preferred illusion of spending a simple, quiet night with his princess tucked safely in his arms. “Sleep.”

~~~Fin~~~

Remember, much like magic, all muses come with a price. This muse’s price is that little review box down below. Please don’t make her chase you for payment, it’s such a bloody awful waste of her time, wouldn’t you agree?


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